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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29885538">Snakeskin</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/lolitabit/pseuds/lolitabit'>lolitabit</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>A Heist With Markiplier (Web Series), Markiplier TV (Web Series), Who Killed Markiplier? (Web Series)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Gender-neutral Reader, M/M, Other, Reader-Insert</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 16:42:17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,179</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29885538</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/lolitabit/pseuds/lolitabit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>"Will you marry me?"</p><p>The tale of you, the reader, the District Attorney, the pawn. You are nothing more than a character in a story that he's written. He doesn't intend on letting you have a say. Not anymore.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Actor Mark/Y/N | District Attorney (Who Killed Markiplier?), Damien | The Mayor/Y/N | The District Attorney (Who Killed Markiplier?), Darkiplier (Markiplier TV)/Mark Fischbach/You, Darkiplier (Markiplier TV)/You, Wilford Warfstache | William J. Barnum | The Colonel &amp; Y/N | The District Attorney</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>19</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Snakeskin</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hi! In this story, the reader's gender is free-form. I'll be using gender-neutral pronouns.</p><p>Also, to clarify, the Mark in this story is not the real-life Mark Fischbach. It's Actor Mark (henceforth known as Mark Iplier). </p><p>Happy reading!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>"Will you marry me?"</em>
</p><p>You certainly weren't expecting that.</p>
<hr/><p>You and Mark had been co-stars for... well as long as you could remember, you guess. And that wasn't a long time either. You had amnesia. Your first memory, albeit a hazy one, was being shaken awake on the side of a road in the dead of winter. You remember seeing Mark's face and hearing a warped <em>"You okay?"</em> before blacking out again and waking up in a hospital.</p><p>Ever since then, Mark has taken you under his wing and raised you up into stardom. You couldn't be more grateful for his support.</p><p>But this? Oh boy. You weren't expecting any of this.</p><p>When Mark initially told you that the two of you were attending a party celebrating his friend Rich's promotion to Detective of the LAPD, you thought nothing of it. Just another lavish night full of drinking, gambling, and Mark's general headassery.</p><p>"Dick, my man!" Mark shouted as he bounded towards his friend on the opposite side of the party room, dragging you along with him.</p><p>Richard rolled his eyes. "Dude, don't call me that..." He muttered before enveloping Mark in a bro hug.</p><p>"Detective Richard Abraham Lauer of the LAPD! I can hardly believe it! Congrats. I'm so proud of you, man."</p><p>"Thanks," Rich replied before pulling out of the hug. He turned to you, reaching out a hand and shaking it. "Always nice to see you again too."</p><p>"And you as well!" You replied with that fake publicity smile. It's not that you hated Rich, you just didn't know him well enough to be genuinely amiable with him.</p><p>The night continued as any other night of the sort would. You followed Mark around like a stray puppy trying to find its owner until he finally broke away and ignored you for his friends. That's how you ended up by yourself at the bar. A few drinks later and you still felt like utter shit.</p><p>"One more please..." You muttered with your head down on the smooth lacquer of the bar.</p><p>"Sorry, dude. I'm changing shifts right now, you'll have to wait for the next bartender—"</p><p>"That would be me, excuse me, thank you very much!"</p><p>"What? But you're not Mike—"</p><p>"Shshsh... Mike is no longer with us. I've got this covered. Now you just move your sweet little tuckus out of the way, please. Thank you, thank you very much."</p><p>The drawl of that voice sounded so very familiar, but you couldn't place your finger on where you knew it from. You lifted your head from the bar to come face to face with an eccentric man with a pink mustache.</p><p>"What can I do you for, old friend?"</p><p>You cocked your head slightly. "Do I... Do I know you?"</p><p>The man gave you sad, puppy-dog eyes. "You really don't remember me, bully?"</p><p>"Oh shit, sorry, I've had a couple of drinks. You're one of Mark's friends right? Uhhhhh... Dave? Dave! No, no... Greg? Steve? Bill? Dave? Wait, I already said that. Ah fuck, I'm sorry. Please remind me of your name again."</p><p>The man had a somber look on his face. "<em>Was.</em>"</p><p>"Was?" You questioned. "That's an odd name—"</p><p>"No, no. That's not my name. I <em>was</em> one of Mark's friends. But that doesn't matter anymore. Well anyways, Wilford Warfstache! Pleasure to make your acquaintance, although we've met before. Or maybe we met in the future. Ah, doesn't matter." He grabbed ahold of your hand and shook it rapidly.</p><p>You pulled your hand away from the shake, twirling your wrist a little. Damn, he had a strong grip. "Pleasure to meet you too..."</p><p>"Now correct me if I'm wrong, but you've had quite a few drinks already. Better watch that blood-alcohol content." He let out a hearty laugh. "Always drink responsibly. Anyways, may I interest you in a water? A coffee? Ooh! How about a Shirley Temple?"</p><p>"I guess you're right. I think I've had enough for tonight. I'll take a Shirley Temple, thanks."</p><p>Wilford set to work on your Shirley Temple. Before you knew it, he slid one across the bar to you. You indulged in the sugary drink instantly. Man, you hadn't had one of these things since... Well, you would say since you were a kid, but you can't exactly remember your childhood (or most of your life for that matter).</p><p>"You've really changed a lot since I last saw you, y'know?" Wilford started. "Less formal, more fun. Less broken neck and bullet wound too."</p><p>"Huh?" You looked up from your drink. "Sorry, what was that?"</p><p>"Ah, nothing, nothing! You're here in the flesh now and that's all that matters. Who cares about the past? Or the future? It's all the same."</p><p>You laughed. "I like your attitude, Wilford. You seem like a spur-of-the-moment kind of guy."</p><p>"The moment is all we have to go by, my dear. That's the only thing that's certain in a world so full of madness."</p><p>"You can say that again. I can't even remember how I got to this point. Well, I can. Kind of. But for the most part, I have no idea who I actually am."</p><p>"The outside of a person may change, but everything stays the same on the inside. I can tell you're the same you that you once were."</p><p>You gave him a delicate smile. A genuine one. "Wow... That's actually really nice of you to say. Thanks."</p><p>Wilford seemed distracted, gazing off into the distance. "Just a little word of advice, prenups work wonders. Had a friend once who didn't sign one. Didn't turn out too well for him. Well, I'll see you around!" He sputtered out hastily.</p><p>You heard someone call your name from behind you. You turned around to see Mark heading your way from across the room. You turned back to Wilford, but he was gone.</p><p>"There you are. Come on, I wanna show you something." He stated bluntly, grabbing your arm and roughly dragging you away from the bar. Was it just you or did he seem kinda miffed?</p><p>"Where are we going?" You asked.</p><p>Mark didn't respond. He kept dragging you. He led you to the middle of the dance floor where couples were laughing and drunkenly dancing to loud, electronic pop music.</p><p>"Stay put." He commanded before heading off to who knows where.</p><p>You were left standing alone in a hot, sweaty sea of grinding couples for a few minutes before the noise of the DJ's microphone clicking on rung out of the speakers.</p><p>"Testing, testing, one two three!" You cringed at his words. <em>Anything but that</em>. "We're gonna put on some nice slow dancing music for all you couples out there! Remember to leave room for Jesus!" He joked.</p><p>Soon after the music switched to some cliche slow dance music, Mark found you again.</p><p>"May I have this dance?" He offered out his hand to you with a corny smile on his face.</p><p>You laughed at him. "Of course, you dork."</p><p>The two of you danced in comfortable silence, being guided by the rhythm of the music. He drew you closer to his chest. You closed your eyes. This was nice. He felt so angry a few minutes ago. Perhaps it was just because he didn't want to miss dancing with you. Perhaps it could be like this more often— less angry, less passive-aggressive, and more compassionate. Perhaps—</p><p>A bright light from above, blinding you momentarily and causing you to flinch. It was a spotlight on you and Mark. The dancers around you shuffled out of the light, leaving you and Mark alone in the center of the floor. Mark got down on one knee, speaking your name.</p><p>"Ever since I rescued you, you've been a constant positive force in my life. We've starred in so many wonderful things together, only tightening our bond. You're the love of my life. I guess what I'm trying to say is...</p><p>
  <em>"Will you marry me?"</em>
</p><p>You felt hot and light-headed under the spotlight. Had it always been that bright? What was it that Wilford said about a prenup again?</p><p>You snapped out of your momentary haze to hear anxious whispering. Oh God, how long had Mark been down on one knee? It had been long enough that you hadn't noticed him pull out a black velvety box with the most gorgeous ring you'd ever seen.</p><p>You knew there were the rumors that the tabloids spread about you and Mark being in a secret relationship, but it had never bothered you. You knew the two of you were close friends and that you'd never be anything more. At least, that's what you'd always assumed. Friends don't just propose to friends out of the blue like this, do they?</p><p>The sound of your name brought you out of your panicking again. It was Mark whispering to you. "So, <em>love</em>, what will it be?"</p><p>What will it be? <em>What will it be!?</em> You had never once been on a date with Mark in your life. Well, you had, but it was a work of fiction that the two of you starred in. It wasn't real. <em>None of this was real.</em> Your answer was plain and simple:</p><p>"Yes."</p><p>What? No, that's not what you meant. Your brain just malfunctioned from all the alcohol, the bright lights, and the adrenaline. You tried again.</p><p>"Yes!"</p><p><em>What the hell? </em>Why couldn't you say it? Why couldn't you say—</p><p>"Yes! Yes! Yes! I will marry you, Mark!"</p><p>No. <em>No, no, no, no, no!</em> What was happening to you. It was like you were an observer in your own body. Like you weren't piloting it.</p><p>Mark slipped the ring on your finger, enveloping you in a tight embrace as the onlookers cheered. Mark grabbed your arm again and whisked you away to the front door of the building the party was being held in. As soon as he flung open the door, crowds of reporters yelled questions at the two of you and paparazzi flashed cameras. It was overstimulating.</p><p>
  <em>"Mark!" "Mark, over here!" "Mr. Iplier!" "Mark, I'm from the LA Times, I have a few questions for you!" "How does it feel to know that you'll soon be Mark's spouse?" "When is the wedding planned for?" "What do you have to say about the engagement?" "Are you excited?" "Are you wearing a dress or a suit to the wedding?" "Why did you keep your relationship a secret from the press for so long?" "Who asked who out first?" "Who made the first move? "Did you propose or did they?" "How much will the wedding cost?"</em>
</p><p>Where the hell did all these reporters come from? Did they know beforehand? Were you the only one in the dark about this? All of the shouts and questioned melded together in one big, uncomfortable noise that made your ears ring.</p><p>"Woah, woah, woah!" Mark yelled back at the crowd, attempting to quiet them down. He drew you close to his chest upon seeing you flinch at all the noise. "One at a time." He gestured at a random reporter in the crowd. "You."</p><p>The reporter immediately thrust his microphone in Mark's direction. "Mark, I'm Jim with Jim News Channel 546. We were wondering if you could tell us how long the two of you have been in a relationship for prior to the press knowing about your engagement."</p><p>"Five years. Next question. You." Mark gestured at another reporter, coincidentally also named Jim.</p><p>Five years? You hadn't even known Mark for five years! It had been... How long had it been? You couldn't even remember, but it definitely couldn't have been five years.</p><p>The questioning continued as Mark muscled through the crowd, dragging you with him back to your car. As the two of you drove home in silence, you felt a sense of deja vu.</p>
<hr/><p><em>"</em> <em>I honestly didn't think you'd say yes. That's amazing, thank you! You're gonna make me so happy. Give me a kiss."</em></p><p>You remembered how he ranted to you after shooting the final scene in that God-awful low-budget romance film the two of you were in together. It was so cheesy you could still taste it.</p><p>
  <em>"This town used to be great, filled with talented people. I used to be... somebody. Maybe not something good, but I was somebody who worked on great projects! Now I'm working on this bullshit. I used to be a star. And can you imagine this script— this bullshit script. What kinda plot-hole filled, cliche-ridden script is this? Who would get engaged on the first date? Who would say yes to that maniac? You. That's who. God, I couldn't tell if you were a good actor or just way too eager."</em>
</p><p>You had to be honest, it kinda stung when Mark attacked you directly when he was angry. He would always apologize after and degrade himself. You would always be the one apologizing and assuring him that he wasn't as bad as he says. </p><p>Still, that memory was ironic considering what just happened. <em>Who was the eager one now, Mark?</em></p>
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